Читать книгу Elves and Heroes - Donald Alexander Mackenzie - Страница 4

Knee-deep she waded in the pool—

  The Banshee robed in green—

She sang yon song the whole night long,

  And washed the linen clean;

The linen that would wrap the dead

  She beetled on a stone,

She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,

  Low singing all alone—

'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill,

  Come back from foreign wars,

His horse's feet were clattering sweet

  Below the pitiless stars;

And in his heart he would repeat—

  "O never again I'll roam;

All weary is the going forth,

  But sweet the coming home!"

He saw the blaze upon his hearth

  Come gleaming down the glen;

For he was fain for home again,

  And rode before his men—

"'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh,

  "Since I would leave her side;

I'll never more leave Scotland's shore

  And yon, my dark-eyed bride."

So dreaming of her tender love,

  Soft tears his eyes would blind—

When up there crept and swiftly leapt

  A man who stabbed behind—

"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride,

  This night shall be your last!" …

When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide

  Of life came ebbing fast …